Nothing Else Matters
by Limliae
Summary: Another Sue, and wow, can I write 'em or what? Finished, mercifully. Just another Legomance to add to the pyre. I'm not meaning to sound so negative about my own work...I'm just not overly proud of this endeavor.
1. Prologue

As this is my third work to be posted on ff.net, I see very little reason to continue writing disclaimers, but as I do wish to avoid costly and time consuming lawsuits, I will state for the inane third time…I own nothing of Tolkien's! This story is completed, although not all parts will be posted at once, but over the span of a few weeks, like a serial. If you are going to review, please think through what you say before you send…realize that I will never be offended by anything written to me on an internet review board, but realize as well that I hold flamers in very low regard and those people who can't even spell correctly when they are flaming me even lower.  
  
With that having been said, there is one very important thing about this story that is worth noting…the title will give it away for some of you, for others I will have to say that this story is based upon an idea that came to me while listening to "Nothing Else Matters" by Metallica. For those of you who do not know the song, look up the lyrics, or better still, listen to the song, it is well worth your time. For the rest I leave this story, because I truly believe that when it comes to love and trust, Nothing Else Matters.  
  
Prologue  
  
"I cannot understand why you are doing this. You are throwing everything beautiful in your life away with both hands and reaching out for something that isn't there." Leomë reached out to touch his sister as she shied away from his hand and continued to pull objects off a small table that had sat in what was once her bedchamber. Her hands skipped over tiny jewel cases and bottles of perfume, intricate woodcarvings and delicate boxes filled with various bits she had collected over the years she had spent in Lorien. Everything was swept into a large sack that was destined for the fires; all of her memories and ties to the past were tossed into forgetfulness as she unemotionally threw them away.  
  
There was however, one small trinket she did not toss so quickly into the sack. She picked up the tiny object and cupped it in her hands, allowing it to roll across her palm as Leomë tried see what it was that had given pause to her motions.  
  
"What is it Ëmara?" His voice was tentative, knowing his sister's often violent mood swings at the drop of the most inoffensive comment. She closed her hand over the object and placed it inside the leather pouch she always wore around her neck. Without missing a beat she continued to shuffle everything else off of the table and into the sack.  
  
"I want you to listen to me Ëmara…"  
  
"No! I want you to listen to me!" Leomë was cut off by the first words his sister had spoken towards him in nearly three days. The anger in her voice dissipated almost instantly and was replaced by the submissive sadness that had come about after the death of her husband, Dîniath, during the final battle in the Wars of the Ring. Even Leomë could see that her entire countenance, once commanding and strong, had dwindled visibly into what he was now staring at…the wasted form of Ëmara.  
  
"I…" she began again, much quieter and now filled with immeasurable sadness, "I want you to forget about me Leomë. I want you to let me go." At this he set his shoulders firmly and picked her chin up, bringing her dark gray eyes up to his own hazel irises. In them he could see nothing of the sister he had once known, they were as empty and emotionless as a vast expanse of thick mist.  
  
"You are not leaving like this, I shall not let you depart with so much sadness still dwelling in your heart. It is not your fault Dîniath was killed, there was nothing you could have done to stop him from going." Leomë instantly regretted mentioning Dîniath's name; it was like a physical blow to Ëmara, who crumpled with her hands covering her face.  
  
"He would not have gone if I had asked him not to. If he had known how much I loved him…why couldn't I tell him? He would not have gone…" She spoke through bitter tears, the memories of her husband crowding her mind and replacing the emptiness in her heart with hatred for herself.  
  
"No…no…he would have gone anyway." Leomë leaned downward and wrapped his arm around her, noticing how much she had wasted away under the burden of her sorrow. Her shoulders flinched slightly and before Leomë had time to react, his body had been thrown violently across the room.  
  
"Oh Leomë! Leave me!" Ëmara turned away as he stared wildly up at her, his confusion at her outburst startling him greatly.  
  
"Why did you do that to me?" He demanded, rubbing his elbow and wincing slightly as he struggled to stand after the force of her throw. It was evident to him that Ëmara's powers had grown considerably since the last time he had seen her. She looked at him intently, her eyes revealing that she had read his thoughts.  
  
"Yes…I have known for some time now that my powers have grown stronger. Don't you see now? I must leave…there is nothing for me here, I bring nothing but sadness into these woods." She averted her eyes as she stood and made her way to the door.  
  
"Where would you go Ëmara? There is no place in this world where sorrow does not live. You cannot carry the weight of all Arda's troubles on your shoulders…you will collapse." She stopped at the door, her hand resting on the knob as she breathed out in a long sigh. Leomë watched her shoulders sink as her voice fell to almost a whisper:  
  
"It does not matter any more." 


	2. Chapter One

Chapter One

            "Left? Where has she gone My Lord?" Celeborn's concern was masked in sadness as he listened to Leomë recount Ëmara's final words. As for his part, Leomë could not hide the despair and worry in his heart for his sister as she moved ever farther from his care. At the conclusion of Leomë's words, Celeborn rose and began to muse upon the past as he spoke his thoughts aloud to Leomë.

            "All this time I thought the power inside of her had found eternal winter and a time to rest. Your sister was always welcome to our lands, that she feels its causes of sadness come from her is foolishness."

            "I imparted as much to her but she no longer holds my counsel of any regard, it is though I speak to one who is deaf." Celeborn breathed a sigh full of pity as his eyes moved across the rolling treetops of Lorien now spreading their golden leaves to the light of the morning sun.

            "There is much to be pitied in Ëmara, she has suffered so much." Here his voice returned to sadness as Leomë sensed they were now speaking of Dîniath. "I know she blames herself for his death but surely she must see that her powers, however great and wonderful, could not have seen nor could have prevented it from coming to pass. Destiny makes us puppets to the ever constant measure of time and no one, not even one so great as she, can slow the rising of the sun."

            "Again, I did plead with her using the very same words you have spoken but she would have none of it. I fear she has set out only to harm herself and I sit powerless to stop her." Leomë sat down with a defeated slump and turned his eyes to Celeborn, who still stood staring out at his kingdom and yet not really focusing on it at all.

            "I know that you seek my counsel but I regret to say I have none to give. Ëmara must choose her own paths and her own destinations." Sensing this was not what Leomë wanted to hear, Celeborn turned his calm stare upon him, speaking to him once more, this time not as a counselor but as a king.

            "You could go searching for her and demand that she return to Lorien with you…but how could you move what you know to be immovable? Your sister has a rare and wonderful gift, it affords her great power but denies her happiness. If she would not go with you, how could you make her? Her strength is greater than yours and her convictions more passionate…let her be."

^***^

            "You are terribly silent today and I do not wish to disturb your thoughts if they rest upon something important...However, if I could ask you one thing…not meaning to pry…"

            "Of course you mean to pry, but ask your questions anyway." Feânin glanced tentatively at his closest friend, Legolas, as they slowly rode through the southern forest of Mirkwood before he began again:

            "If you should not be too offended with me, I would ask when you are to be married. Your engagement to the Lady Yavanna was announced nigh on three months ago, how long do you desire the lady or your father to wait?" Legolas' furrowed brow did not rise, as he appeared not to have heard Feânin's question. The latter, being younger and thereby more impatient, shifted his weight before clearing his throat to speak again.

            "My Lord…"

            "I heard you the first time Feânin." Legolas' face showed the faint trace of a smile as his jaw loosened and his brow fell back into its usual curved lines. "And I suppose you shall be the first to know that Yavanna and I intend to marry upon Midwinter's Day." By now his face was turned to Feânin's as his eyes lustered to a merry deep blue. All traces of his former thoughts were locked away from his mind as he turned his speech to his beloved. "Father and Yavanna know of course but you are the first outside the three of us privileged to know the date of the marriage. Keep it secret for but a week longer, the Feast of Midsummer's Day shall be in six days hence, then shall it be made know to the entire kingdom." Feânin's face broke into a smile as well as he recognized the first signs of true happiness on his friend's face, something few had seen since his return from Gondor at the end of the wars. 

            "Congratulations My Lord and although I am of less wit than yourself, feel safe in keeping your secret with me. I shall tell no…" Feânin suddenly drew his horse up short, his body sat rigid as Legolas also heard the faint noise that had drawn his companion's attention. It was the soft tread of uneven footsteps, moving in their direction from the thick foliage of the trees to their right.

            "Orc?" Feânin spoke the word at hardly a whisper as Legolas remained still and strained to pick up every noise dropped by the wandering stranger. The uneven stepping was a telltale characteristic of the orcs and the approaching creature apparently had a wound or a limp of some kind for every other step was accompanied by the soft brush of fingertips against tree trunks for support. However, the silence and stealth was unlike that of a common orc, the creatures were usually too stupid to disguise or muffle their footsteps.

            "No…it is something else." Perhaps the lineage and hunting skills of elves prevented fear from clouding his mind as he quickly motioned for Feânin to dismount. With a few whispered words, their horses quickly made off into the thinning trees a few hundred yards in front of where they now stood.

            "The tree." Legolas mouthed the words silently as he pointed towards a nearby ancient oak. Within moments they were both laying across boughs well hidden in the thick green foliage. 

Legolas noticed that the sound had stopped for a few moments, to be resumed with what he perceived to be a slight trace of hesitancy. He felt his fingertips lightly brush the rough feathers of an arrow as he wondered whether or not to string his bow in readiness. Feânin was of the same mind as he tightened his grip on the handle of one of a pair of ivory-handled knives strapped across his shoulder blades.

            Presently, the forest seemed to split open slightly and it allowed a tiny figure, cloaked in a blue cape and hood so dark it was no easy task to distinguish it from black, to come forth. The stranger was indeed limping badly, nearly appearing to stumble several times as the figure drew closer to the tree where Legolas and Feânin hid. 

            Legolas stealthily slipped an arrow from his quiver, the presence of the hidden stranger somehow deeply disquieting to him. At this the figure stopped dead and seemed to slightly incline his head towards the tree. From within the folds of the material a deep voice spoke, silencing the smallest bird in the forest and drawing powerful strength into its voice. 

            "Know if you release that arrow Master Elf, you shall be dead before it reaches me. And tell your friend to sheath his knives…I bring no harm into this forest nor to you." For the first time in his life, fear coursed through Legolas' veins as he wondered if the being could read his thoughts. Glancing quickly at Feânin, he could see the same questions were running through his friend's mind as well. Legolas noticed a coldness which shook through his veins and for a moment, clouded his mind. The moment was lost as the wanderer turned his hood away and made ready to resume his movement through the forest.

            The stranger continued his haphazard walking and disappeared into the thick trees almost as mysteriously as he had entered. Legolas could not tell for sure but it seemed in his mind that there was a darkness following the stranger, a terrible power drawing life from everything around the cloaked figure.

            "What was that…an elf?" Feânin spoke breathlessly as Legolas sighed deeply, watching the trail of the mysterious stranger and loosing sight of the footsteps in the darkness of the forest. He noticed also that the sound of the strangers' footsteps was no more, as though he had vanished into the blackness of the trees.

            "No…it did not have the light of an elf. I should say it was something sinister but my mind is still confused. Something was different about that stranger, something I can't quite put my finger on." 


	3. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

            "Where did she come from?" Thranduil spoke in a whisper as he stared at what appeared to be an elf of ancient descent, yet not of a very old age. Her youth still held firm the lines of her cheeks and the curve of her lips. 'Unusual, for an elf to look so ancient and yet still so youthful.' Thranduil thought silently. His eyes regarded the sleeping woman as her chest rose and fell evenly and her eyelids fluttered slightly in nameless dreams. Yavanna, a faithful maiden in the apprenticeship of the healers, stood at her side, caring for the stranger as she slowly drew a damp cloth across her sweat-beaded brow.

            "I know not My Lord from where she came. She was brought to us by an elder elf of the courts…he claimed to have found her near the banks of the river. I daresay it is only by chance she was not dead when he brought her to us, another hour might have finished the poor thing." Yavanna stared intently at her patient as she began to draw her breath in quick gasps while her darting eyelids revealed a terrifying dream that was haunting her.

            'Poor thing?' Thranduil thought in his mind, wondering at how helpless she really was. Wincing under the strain of a horrifying dream, she seemed to be quite defenseless, but the hard lines of her eyes and the strength of her jaw led him to believe she was not as weak as all were led to believe. 

            "As soon as she is able to speak I wish to know whom she is and from whence she came." He ordered Yavanna before taking leave of the healers, she in return assenting with a slight nod of her head as she returned her attention to the woman, who by now had been lulled back into calm repose.

^***^

            "My Lady Yavanna, may I speak with you in private for a moment?" She smiled tentatively as she recognized Legolas' voice behind her. There was still something of an awkwardness in her heart with regard to her fiancée. Everything had been arranged so quickly; she had had hardly enough time to recover from his exclamations of love before a proposal had come. That is not to say she did not love him, quite the contrary, she had discovered a happiness she had not thought possible as she stood in the light of Legolas' love.

            "I have told you My Lord that I cannot leave until the sun appears in the lowest window. See, it is still too high in the sky. You may speak to me here, if it pleases you." Her happiness was hard to contain as she quickly glanced at the other healers, all who were wearing smiles as well at the attention Yavanna was receiving from their prince. 

            "Very well," he spoke with a mock exasperation as he came from behind Yavanna and sought to sit at her side when he suddenly noticed the elf under her care.

            "Who is that?" Yavanna returned her eyes to the woman who by now was again in the throes of another fitful dream.

            "I do not know, your father has already been to see her and has sent messengers to all the elvish realms…perhaps they shall have known of her." She once again began to wipe the sweat from the sleeping woman's brow as her head began to toss from side to side and barely audible moans escaped her lips. Legolas watched her for a moment, pausing as his eyes met her shaking eyelids. 'There is something strange about this elf.'

            "Something is different about this elf," he spoke to Yavanna, pointing at the dark lines of her cheek, "see how there is no luminescence about her…she does not shine. Her cheek lines here are so harsh." Yavanna could see what he was talking about; there was no aura about this elf as there was about all others. Elves, a higher and nobler race of beings always seemed to radiate light and serenity, only the fallen did not have this shine. Legolas noted this with care, wondering more and more at the origin of the stranger.

            "Has she awoken at all? Said anything at all?" He asked, not removing his eyes from the sleeping stranger as she lapsed once again into dreamless sleep. Yavanna wrung the soft material rag into a small bowl and laid the swath across her patient's brow.

            "She has not awoken under my watch…but she has been speaking. Sometimes it is in languages I cannot comprehend…sometimes I think it is…" her voice dropped so low that Legolas had to lean forward to catch her frightened gasp, "the dark language. When I can understand her she speaks of a single person…Dîniath. He seems to be her soul mindset." 

            "Dîniath? Are you sure?" Yavanna nodded her head vigorously, absolutely certain after listening to the delirium of her patient for nearly two days. She studied Legolas carefully, noticing that he seemed to recognize the name.

            "Do you know him?" Legolas stared ahead as if lost in a slew of thoughts and furrowed his brow as he searched through the din for the answer to her question. Suddenly, he remembered, though the answer brought more confusion than the quest for the solution.

            "Yes…I remember a general during the War held that name. I believe he was from Lorien…but…this elf could not have come from that fair realm, she is far too dark complexioned." Legolas again stared intently at the woman when suddenly his eye fell upon a long midnight-blue cloak that lay folded at the foot of her bed. His mind quickly recalled the stranger in the wood and felt his heart quicken as he noticed that the woman had a bulge under the sheets on her right leg that could only be a bandage.

            "Where did you say she was found?" The sudden intensity of his voice almost frightened Yavanna as she quickly stuttered trying to remember the words of the man who had brought the stranger.

            "Near…near the river, right next to the edge of the forest. Why? What is it Legolas?" For his part, Legolas had lapsed into one of his silences that had become a trademark of the often pensive prince. He picked up the blue cloak and felt the lightweight material flow through his fingers, marveling at the finery of the cloak and wondering that she could have come from the Lorien forest with such a piece of fine woven cloth. 

            "May I borrow this?" He held the cloak up to Yavanna, who, seeing no reason to refuse, acquiesced and watched as Legolas took his leave, a look of confusion and wonder still painted across his face as he left the house of the healers. Yavanna returned her gaze to the stranger and gave a start as she found herself staring into a pair of unflinching gray eyes.


	4. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

            "Please…just tell us your name." King Thranduil and the head of the healers, Manle, had been trying unsuccessfully for nearly three days to persuade the silent stranger into speaking. Their efforts had proved fruitless and frustrating, therefore, they once again left her in the care of Yavanna, bidding her to tell them immediately if she spoke or made any attempts to communicate.

            Yavanna spoke with the stranger, talking of anything she could think to say as she mused about Legolas and her upcoming wedding.

            "Of course, without your speaking I have no way of knowing if you hear my words, I would like to think you do. I have but little time left with you tonight, I am to meet Legolas tonight for dinner. Here, the sun has just crested the frame of the lowest window…I must take my leave…"

            "Ëmara…" Yavanna started and quickly leaned forward over the woman, who parted her pale lips for a second time and sighed in a whisper-like voice:

            "My name is Ëmara." Yavanna could hardly contain her excitement, and forgetting the bidding of King Thranduil and Manle, pulled a chair next to Ëmara's bed and spoke with hardly constrainable excitement. 

            "Ëmara, a beautiful name…can you tell me where you are from?" Ëmara breathed in slowly, the raspy sound of air passing through her parched throat spurred Yavanna to grasping a pitcher of water and offering it to the lady who drank hungrily before sighing with contentment and replying:

            "From Lorien…Lorien…Leomë…Dîniath…" Ëmara began to lapse into semi-consciousness again as her words slurred and her eyes rolled back into her head frightening Yavanna terribly. She reached out and picked up Ëmara's wrist, attempting to feel her heart beat. No sooner had her fingertips grazed the dark flesh than a force she could not explain tossed her arm violently away from Ëmara and nearly forced her shoulder out of joint. Yavanna did not see the flick of Ëmara's wrist, nor the intense eyes that were watching her actions just beneath their half-closed eyelids.

^***^

            "I speak the truth My Lord. A force I could not see threw my hand away…as though something did not want me to touch her skin." Thranduil sighed and gave Yavanna a disapproving before running his eyes over Ëmara, who was sleeping soundly.

            "That you did not send for me instantly upon her awakening upsets me greatly…however, I am interested in what you learned from her. An ancient name…Ëmara, one that I have not heard in many years, its origins rest in Belirand and the days before the sundering of elves' first home. The forest of Lorien confuses me though, she does not look as though she belongs to that fair realm but we shall know soon enough when my emissaries return. I am asking that Manle watch her personally from now on." Yavanna raised her sorrowful eyes to Thranduil who quickly reassured her.

            "I am not displeased with you Yavanna. There are many other things however, that you should have your mind upon, such as your forthcoming marriage. Speaking of which, here comes my son now…" Legolas was indeed approaching, his countenance however, was set and stern as he passed Yavanna without a word and walked up to his father.

            "We have just received word that this elf did in fact come from the forests of Lorien. Her brother, Leomë, is but three days from here and approaching rapidly to bring her back home." Here he paused as his eyes quickly scanned those around him, noticing that all were hanging on his words with breathless attention. Dropping his voice so only his father could hear he annexed a warning that Leomë had given them regarding his sister.

            "He said that if she should awake, none should try to physically force her to do anything, that…that the results could be catastrophic." Thranduil's eyebrow raised in confusion as Legolas shrugged his shoulders, neither truly understanding the warning but heeding it nonetheless. Just as Legolas had turned to acknowledge Yavanna his eyes caught sight of Ëmara's as she now sat completely awake and yet forgotten in the confusion of Legolas' arrival. For a fleeting moment he glimpsed immeasurable depth in her gray eyes mixed with a power that sent a chill into the core of his body. She was staring directly at him and to his imagination he felt she was seeing through him somehow. The moment was quickly lost as Manle noticed her and the flat matte façade was pulled over her eyes, shutting the windows Legolas had but glimpsed into.

^***^

            Yavanna had been silent all throughout dinner; Legolas' brooding was spreading even to her as the sharp clinking of utensils against glass was the only sound in the empty chamber. She watched his eyes intently as they seemed to be traveling many miles away from where they now sat.

            "That elf…Ëmara," 'So that is what this is all about.' She thought, noticing that his eyes still seemed to be on thoughts far off. "Did she say anything besides those four names? Nothing about her past or her wanderings?" Yavanna shook her head and tentatively ventured:

            "Why do you allow her to trouble your thoughts?" He looked up at her and tried unsuccessfully to clear his mind of Ëmara and focus solely on his fiancé as he forced a smile.

            "She is not troubling my thoughts. Have you finished your wedding dress yet?" Yavanna allowed his weak subject change to pass as she happily replied that she would show him on the morrow. The dinner ended amiably as they parted at Yavanna's door, Legolas' eyes still shadowed with thoughts he did not share with her as he absentmindedly kissed her cheek goodnight and made his way towards the healing house.


	5. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

            Legolas' footsteps went unheeded as he passed through the house of the healers, his soft feet passing noiselessly across the stone floors. He could see Ëmara's figure dimly in the pale moonlight spilling through the open windows. As he approached he could sense her body tense slightly, as though she had sensed his presence in the darkness. Something was amiss and he noticed it instantly- she slept with her eyelids shut, as mortal men would. It struck him for a moment as he reasoned that she must have very little fear of attack or surprise; she had no reason for vigilance.

            "I know you are awake…there is no need to keep your eyes closed." He watched her intently as she remained motionless at first and then, slowly, her eyelids rose as the moonlight scrambled to reach her gray eyes. He could see that the mask was no longer clouding her irises and the clear depths he had before perceived were now staring at him and beckoning him to enter into their recesses.

            "Who are you, elf?" She spoke the word "elf" with disdain, as though the noble race was dirt beneath her feet and hardly worth the effort of her speaking its name. Her voice was raspy and low, as he perceived she was trying to keep it hidden.

            "I am Legolas, son of King Thranduil of Mirkwood."

            "What do you want?" She parted her lips and spoke audibly, betraying her true health as Legolas undoubtedly recognized traces of the stranger's voice he and Feânin had heard in the forest. Deciding not to put her in a defensive position, he elected to question her subversively.

            "What happened to your leg?" Her eyes quickly narrowed as a flame seemed to erupt in their gray depths. She inclined her head slightly away from him and her voice fell thickly in tightening atmosphere:

            "Aren't you more curious to know what I was doing in your forest and how I knew of your intentions to attack me?" Legolas remained silent as she continued to bore through him with her eyes. There was no need for him to speak, for she could see the thoughts of his mind, the confusion and helplessness inclined her to think him somewhat of a weaker being. The flame of indignation subsided presently, giving way to a dull glow of curiosity as she spoke with a more subdued tone:

            "However, to answer your question…I met a precipice overlooking a lake and my horse…did not agree with my choice to jump into it." Legolas was taken aback at first but he quickly dismissed his initial thought; why would and elf wish to harm herself?

            "Why in the name of Arda would you desire to do so?" Her eyes closed as she silently whispered:

            "I want to die…I no longer have the desire to live anymore." Legolas shuddered slightly as he watched her shadowed face and noticed a single, silver tear catch the moonlight on its journey across her cheek. Ëmara could no longer concentrate on his mind as her own thoughts pulled her back to Lorien and Dîniath, before the time of evil, before she had discovered…

            "Your brother is coming to retrieve you back to Lorien." She suddenly turned her eyes on him.

            "Leomë?" 

            "Yes. He is very worried about you and is making full haste to come here. He shall arrive two days hence." She quickly sat up and Legolas noticed that she was not ill at all, merely wasted away into a smaller form than most elf maidens. Her hands fumbled with something around her neck, which he soon recognized as a small leather pouch. From within the sack she produced a tiny jewel, cut in the shape of a seven-point star, which she rolled across her palm and stared at intently. The smallish orb caught a beam of moonlight and revealed a cloudy purple center which seemed to be tossing about as though in a storm. As though it had decided something for her she closed her palm quickly and returned the stone to her pouch.

            "I must leave." Ëmara threw the blankets off of her legs and tentatively touched the bandage around her right leg. However, when she placed it on the floor and tried to force weight onto it, her leg buckled and she fell back into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. 

            "You cannot leave." Legolas placed his hand upon her shoulder, meaning to merely indicate that her leg was not fit to travel upon. No sooner had he done this than she quickly rolled her shoulder and his arm was thrown away by a power he could not see. She turned her icy stare to him, allowing him time to make the connection between her motion and his reaction. A confused look crossed his face as he rolled his shoulder to relieve the pain her throw had caused.

            "Did…did you do that?" Ëmara nodded as her eyes roved over his face, watching the struggle behind his dark blue irises. After sitting for a few minutes in silence, she opened her palm towards a small cup sitting on the table next to her bed.

            "I have an ancient strength, a power drawn from everything living." The cup began to pivot slightly and then, with a fluid motion, rose from the table and flew gently into the palm of her open hand. Legolas watched with amazed confusion as she set the cup down and turned her fingertips towards his hand. "You see I can control all matter and as a side affect, being so closely related to nature has afforded me the ability to see into the minds and thoughts of all beings." His arm involuntarily rose from his side and was drawn towards her outstretched palm.

            "How…h-how…where…"

            "Shhhhh." His fingertips pressed against hers and slowly, coldness began to pass through his body that flowed from her hand. Legolas closed his eyes as he felt a blackness creeping into his mind, clearing it of all thoughts but those that dwelled on Ëmara. For a fleeting instant, he could see the thoughts of her mind…pain, confusion, anger, hatred, love, and fear passed before his eyes so quickly he had hardly the time to register one image before it passed to the next.

            "You see my thoughts when I allow it." Legolas forced his eyes open and struggled to pull his hand away from hers. Ëmara's power still held sway over his motion and would not allow him to move. She could remember her first healer, Yavanna, and how she had spoken constantly of Legolas. As Ëmara studied the recesses of his dark blue eyes, she searched for images of Yavanna, of which she could find none. She released him and allowed him to recover.

            "Why…why is your skin so cold?" He asked, rubbing his hands together in an attempt to shake the iciness that was clinging to his fingertips. She shuddered and hugged her shoulders, ignoring his question and attempting to stand again, this time remaining on her feet with the aid of a nearby chair.

            "I must leave. Believe that you cannot stop me. My brother must not find me." She lurched forward to be met by Legolas' outstretched arms, pressing against her shoulders and preventing her advancement. 

            "Out of my way." She commanded in a voice that left no room for question that she would harm him if it came to it. He did not budge and with a thrust of her arms, she threw him nearly across the room, knocking him against a small bookshelf and toppling it over. Ëmara struggled towards the door, leaning heavily on her left leg and using the wall as a guide. 

            Legolas was quick to his feet and once again barred her exiting, blocking the door with his body as an existential force held control of his actions. Something was moving him to action, which before had remained dormant within his body; Ëmara had stirred something deeply hidden in his breast, something he dared not approach or explain.

            "Persistent elf, it shall be your death!" She threw her outstretched palm towards him, knocking him so hard he was thrown against the opposite wall and crumpled into a ball as he hit the floor. Ëmara did not pity him; her own indifference to all things living had been exemplified by his stubbornness. There was however, an odd sensation of slight regret for her action. The thought was quickly forgotten however, as she realized her moment to escape into darkness. She stumbled towards the door and made her way into the night air, tears suppressed behind her eyes as the pain in her legs became hardly bearable and the blackness of the night pulled upon her heart.


	6. Chapter Five

Chapter Five 

            Legolas opened his eyes slowly, the blackness drawing away as he found himself still laying on the floor of the healer's house in the dead of night. His first thought was of Ëmara as he struggled to his feet and noticed that she was nowhere to be found. With a determined stumble he made his way outside and tried to pierce the blackness of the night with his eyes. 

            'She must already be a fair distance away.' He could hear nothing, nor could his ears detect the sounds of footsteps in haste. The moon unveiled herself from behind a drape of cloud and spilled light onto the open courtyard. Legolas suddenly caught a glimpse of a huddled form not a hundred yards in front of where he now stood. With hurried steps he made his way towards it and recognized Ëmara, passed out from pain and exhaustion.

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            "Where were you this morning? I came to your room to tell you of your father's summons and you were not there." Yavanna could see slight tiredness holding onto Legolas' feet as they wound their way through the palace gardens. He sighed and relayed to her that he had been visiting a friend last night. As soon as the words left his mouth Yavanna could see that they were lies; it was like a slap across the face that she bore without changing the emotions crossing her face.

            "Who?" Thought her will was strong, her voice betrayed a slight anger and fear in her voice that Legolas, too lost in his thoughts to pick up on, absentmindedly replied:

            "Feânin." 'Perhaps he is not lying; his answer was so casual. I am perhaps developing a jealousy but what have I to fear? I hold his heart.' Yavanna thought, as she repainted a smile across her face and let the subject matter drop, pressing the conversation into the forgotten memories of her mind.

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            The expected day of arrival for Leomë came and passed without trace or word of his whereabouts. When Thranduil had feared the worst, a hastily written letter arrived by courier stating that circumstances beyond his control had called Leomë back to Lorien. The post script of the letter recapitulated the warning given by word of mouth to Legolas stating that none should force anything on Ëmara, requesting as well that she was to be kept in Mirkwood at all costs until Leomë's return at the end of the year.

            For her part, Ëmara had healed considerably faster than any elf Manle had ever seen before. The bulk of her injuries were gone in a matter of days and she was walking free of assistance within a week of her coming to Mirkwood very nearly dead. She remained silent however, conversing with none, save herself as she passed each day wandering near the river where she had been found. 

            Legolas watched all of this, more curious than ever to know of Ëmara's past. Something had troubled him about the letter received from Leomë; something in the writing denoted a forced hurriedness, an urgency pressed by threats. Legolas could not help but feel that Leomë's decision to return to Lorien had been forced up him by a power he could not control. Although his suspicions did at first lie with Ëmara, he struggled day by day to strengthen them as a quietness descended upon her and pulled a clever façade of femininity over her rough exterior.

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The Feast of Midsummer's Day came about with much ado and bustle about the castle in preparation for the night's activities. The whole realm was in an uproar, everyone running about in last minute adjustments to dresses and costumes. Everyone seemed to be in wonderful spirits, Legolas however, was the only elf not caught up in the festivities. His thoughts seemed to stay with Ëmara for reasons he could not explain nor understand. It had been nearly a month since their episode in the healing house and since then they had not spoken.

'That elf has enchanted my thoughts, but with what magic I can say not. Something alive crawls beneath her skin, bursting to escape the bondage of restraint and reason, something I fear to be wonderful and yet terrible in one stroke.' He turned to Feânin, who had just entered with the message that Yavanna would meet him at the top of the main stairwell. Without a further thought on the matter, Legolas walked to his friends' side and they left his chambers, talking of the festivities to come. 

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            At the feast, all thoughts of Ëmara were pushed to the back of Legolas' mind as he showered affection and attention on Yavanna, who appeared particularly radiant in a light lavender dress sewn to perfection to fit her slender frame. She had pinned her golden hair in tiny curls atop her head, creating a magnificent cascade down the nape of her neck that caught everyone's eye. No one could deny, that in her maiden beauty and happiness of her engagement, she was the fairest of all in attendance.

            Legolas was particularly proud that all gazed upon his future wife with envy, proud that he was privileged to love the most beautiful jewel of the whole kingdom. They danced together through the night, the most marvelous couple on the floor.

            It was during a slow waltz that Legolas saw her. Entering unnoticed she had caused more commotion in his mind than if she had come with flourish of trumpets. 

            There stood Ëmara, clad in a simple burgundy dress that tapered and tucked in every fitting way about her body. The stunning beauty of the dress complemented her sharp exterior, making the rougher places smooth and adding a mysterious luster to her creamy olive skin. Atop her head perched neither curls nor ribbons, but a plain twist of her raven hair bedecked with a tiny blood-red rosebud. 

            All of this Legolas took in at a breath, briefly recalling his father's mentioning that he had requested Ëmara's presence at the feast. She looked quite comely in the evening gown, but all illusions were lost as her cool stare turned towards him and seemed to chill his blood from across the room. He returned his gaze to Yavanna, who in turn was studying him very closely, a look of concern crossing her face.

            "What is it My Lord? Does something trouble you…your hands seem terribly cold." Legolas, trying to quickly smooth over his uncouth lapse, picked her hand up and pressed it against his cheek, commenting that it was merely a draft as they continued to sway across the floor.


	7. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

            "My Lord, your father desires to speak with you." Thranduil's vassal delivered his short message to the Prince as he and Yavanna were slowly dancing through a waltz. Legolas obediently made a quick parting promise to Yavanna before making his way through the sea of dancers to his father.

            "I wish you to ask the Lady Ëmara to dance. She is my personal guest and therefore yours as well…extend her the courtesy of a dance, for I daresay she has not touched the floor all night." Amidst the ever-swelling throng of elves and occasional foreign guests, Legolas had lost sight of Ëmara and had rather tried to forget her presence until his father's request. With hesitation, he began to slowly scan the crowd, taking no time in spying the dark red dress, more visible against the grays, greens, and pastels of the regular court. 

            She stood apart from all others, staring pensively at a large tapestry of the finest woven silk that stood displayed against a wall of the room. The picture it boasted was of the forest Lorien and the elves that lived there, moving about their daily lives in happiness and harmony. Ëmara's face denoted irony and cynicism as the hard lines of her brow came to a sharp point above the bridge of her nose. As Legolas approached, she spoke without glancing away from the tapestry.

            "You need not ask, I do not desire to dance." The same chilling sensation crawled underneath his skin as he made the connection in his mind that her gift of seeing his thoughts must be accompanied by the coldness. Without daring to allow her the satisfaction of having the upper hand, he continued to approach her until he was right beside her.

            "My request has already been refused? Why did you come to the ball if not to dance?" She turned from the tapestry and her heavy gray eyes fell upon his own deep navy irises. Her eyes however, were no longer a flat and lifeless gray, but a mass of teeming color; violets were mixing with blues which in turn were mixing with slates mixing with hazels. An opus of color spread itself beneath her lashes and filled his eyes with wonderment, as she was quick to notice, and once again, as if by magic, her eyes returned to their natural dull gray.

            "I came to the ball at the insistence of your father…how can I refuse my King and captor?" Indignation rose in Legolas' voice to hear his father talked of in such a way as he spoke:

            "Captor? How dare you speak of my father in such a manner, due to what offense does he merit such a base title?" Ëmara looked over his shoulder at where Thranduil now stood, talking intently with Yavanna and pointing in their direction.

            "Then you say that I am free to leave this forest as and when I wish?" To her tone she now added a bit of scathing anger mixed with frustration. 'Ah, so that is it…the cage of Mirkwood has snapped about her and left her quite alone.' Legolas' face showed no signs of his revelation as he continued the conversation.

            "Who is to stop you? You with all of your…powers?" A smile curled her lips as she turned her eyes upon the host of dancers now laughing merrily at a couple dancing to a very lively jig.

            "Do you so carelessly sign the death warrants of so many? Is it your place…Prince of Mirkwood…to decide the fate of these people?" Her voice fell from its mocking tone into one of heavy sadness in a matter of seconds, evoking a deep sense of confused pity in Legolas. "I do not wish to harm this people…these…elves are such beautiful creatures and there are too many to die. Believe that any attempt of my escape would lead to your father's pursuit and the deaths of many." Fear paled Legolas' face as he desired more and more with each word that passed from her lips to ask the thousand questions that were running through his mind. The coldness shot through his body quickly and he noticed Ëmara's smile had returned.

            "Save your questions, they will not be answered by me. I shall offer this one bit of advice however, to know the secrets of the past, you must find the keys of the future…and they lie in the hands of Leomë. I take my leave." She began to walk away, when Legolas called out for her to stop.

            "I do not understand the things you have told me…nor do I fully understand by what power you have taken over my thoughts. I do know however, that I still seek your hand for a dance…and I shall not be refused." Ëmara was the one to be taken aback this time as she quizzically rationalized her own thoughts towards the persistent prince.

            'There is nothing of attraction, for if I am not mistaken he finds me quite harsh and far too crude looking for his personal liking. For what purpose does he so desire a dance? For his father's sake? If for his father why does he not say so…unless I have been wrong in my assumptions…' She flew into his thoughts again, only to find them muddled and confused, a din of raging emotions so loud she could not bear the strain upon her own mind and so drew upon the only conclusion she could conjure.

            "Why so persistent? Surely you care nothing for me?" Legolas laughed shortly and assured her he did not. As soon as the words left his mouth however, a small sliver of doubt lodged itself immovably in his mind and began to work its way imperceptibly towards his heart.

            "I merely desired a dance, not an engagement." Ëmara sighed, and realizing that a simple yes would prevent a hundred annoying entreaties, she slipped her arm through his and allowed him to escort her to the dance floor. 

            Their ears were met by the final Imiliá of the evening as the crowd split and allowed them to enter into the middle. Legolas led her with ease, all the while feeling her mind advance and retreat from his thoughts as the point of contact between their bodies at their fingertips grew cold.

            "Do you know the Imiliá My Lady?" Ëmara nodded, recognizing the opening bars of what was widely known amongst the elves as one of the most difficult and yet exhilarating dances of the kingdoms. It was normally danced by experienced couples for entertainment, however, the appearance of the prince with the strange lady in red had caused a murmur in the crowd as all stood aside and allowed them room.

            Legolas extended his cursory bow and she in turn responded with a low curtsy, nearly bringing her head to the floor. All eyes turned towards the couple as their bodies met, clasping at the hands and stepping off with vigor into the first moves of the Imiliá.

            Ëmara could no longer watch the thoughts of the Prince's mind as her own energy was being channeled into the dance, a dance which was quickly becoming overexerting but which she refused to back down from. The room pivoted and swayed with the motion of her body as they quickly moved from turn to turn, sometimes ending with a sudden halt or a low dip. Everything was moving too quickly, the colors and lights and eyes and bodies were flashing before her eyes, producing a dizzying spectrum she could no longer focus upon.

            Legolas felt her moves become sluggish as he remembered her sickness and signaled for the minstrels to play another song while he escorted her from the floor. The room quickly filled again with the rustle of dresses and the lull of laughter as Legolas assisted Ëmara from the hall and towards her bedchamber.

            "I did not need your pity. I have strength enough to dance a simple Imiliá!" She opened her fingers quickly and his grip upon her wrist was released. Legolas made a motion to grab her arm again, but this time thought the better of it, instead saying:

            "Your indignation and anger are without reason! I know now your heart holds neither pity nor compassion…you are bent to survive alone…and alone you shall be." With that he left her in the hall, returning to the dancing as his heart burned with sadness and regret. 


	8. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

            Ëmara stood in the hallway for a very long time, her own thoughts now difficult to sift through. If she did indeed care nothing for the childish prince, why was the blood rushing through her ears and fingertips with hurt pride and indignation…what did she care of his opinions or conjectures? 

            'He is foolish and young, a mere pitiful boy who knows nothing, nothing of the world and of the powers of the great. Why have his words hurt me so? I am determined to be alone- but it is a choice of my own deciding…I knew it the very moment Dîniath's sword was carried to me…I suppose it was not meant to be. There is only one thing certain in my life…my curse and my abandonment…they are one and the same, an inescapable chasm into which I must fall. Oh, why did I have to be found by this people…?'

            "Why did you not let me die!" She screamed aloud, following the echo with her sharp ears as it resonated down the hallway and into oblivion. Her gray eyes now filled with tears and they fell down her hot cheeks, blazing trails of silver against her olive complexion as she began to walk. Her feet carried her, not to her bedchambers, but towards the back of the palace, wherein lay, spread out as a green carpet, the gardens of Thranduil. 

            Ëmara walked until she could no longer hear the patter of feet or the rustle of dresses mixed with joyous laughter and singing. It was not until she was quite alone, standing upon a long stone terrace in the darkness of the night, that she pulled the small black stone from her leather pouch and placed it in the center of her hand.

            Through her eyes, the stone's center began to clear, the frothing clouds suddenly parted to reveal a small huddled form. She peered more closely, a smile playing upon her lips as she recognized the cringing creature as Leomë. 

            "Leomë? Do you hear my words?" The being suddenly looked up and wildly about him, struggling to his feet before responding to her words in a loud voice above the chaos of the surrounding winds.

            "Ëmara? Ëmara release me!" 

            "Why do you pursue me Leomë? You have not the strength to rival me…however, my time here is at its end. I release you to come as you wish…bring the truth if you like, they shall not believe." She drew her fingertip across the ridges of the jewel before returning it to her pocket. Detaining Leomë with the powers of her mind had been a temporary arrangement to buy her more time. Now she desired only to escape Mirkwood and the watchful eyes of Lord Legolas.

            Ëmara knew that Leomë would arrive within a matter of a few hours; she had only just caught him outside the borders of Mirkwood when the powers of her mind had held him at bay in an invisible prison. With a sigh of resignation, she walked back into the palace, only to be met by Legolas who apparently had been looking for something.

            "My Lord." She curtsied shortly with an intent to leave quickly but much to her surprise, she felt his hand grasp her firmly about her wrist. He pulled her face to face with him, his eyes speaking words she dared not read as Ëmara waited for an explanation.

            "I…I could not return to the dance. There was…is something I must ask you." She glanced down at her wrist, still wrapped tightly with his fingers. Her instinct to remove his hand was smothered by her own curiosity as she returned her gray eyes to his face and waited for his question.

            "Yes?" She prompted after a few moments of silence. He seemed to be searching for something in her eyes, watching and waiting for something she could not understand, for his thoughts were too boisterous to decipher.

            "Can you answer a question for me…honestly?" Instinctively she knew what his next question would be- but the answer was more difficult than he could ever understand. She nodded and waited patiently, watching him physically summon the courage to speak.

            "Who…what are you?" Ëmara let her wrist slip from his fingers as she smiled and began to wander again onto the terrace. 'How am I to answer…the truth? Leomë, I am sure, will provide that unpleasantness in but a few hours.'

            "You shall not understand…"

            "Yes I will." He countered as though he had anticipated this response from her.

            "You would not believe…even if I spoke the truth you would not believe." She turned to walk away, to be met by an even more persistent grip about her arm, which she did not delay in removing as her gray eyes swarmed into the mass of colors he had seen at the dance.

            "I must know…I must…you have bewitched my thoughts, my very being! I act not of myself anymore…my thoughts are not mine alone anymore! I know you to be a being of great power, void of all compassion…tell me what you have done to me at least! Tell me that I may be rid of my thoughts of you!" He spoke with such passionate conviction that Ëmara found it difficult to deny his request. She turned towards the light of the palace and spoke quietly before she walked away:

            "My brother arrives upon the morrow…ask him your questions. I shall leave tomorrow, you shall be free to forget everything I have said." He watched her leave, the red dress fading into the orange glow of waning candlelight. 

            "Not one word…not one gesture of yours could I…shall I ever forget." 


	9. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

            Ëmara could not be wrong in her guessing- she really need not have guessed at all, for she knew that Leomë's coming would herald the end of her stay in Mirkwood, and in all other elven lands for that matter. Their bargain long ago had been for his silence in return for her help, but now they had grown independent of each other. Ëmara knew that her attack against him would be countered swiftly; his silence was no longer something she could count upon. The timing was earlier than she had hoped, but no less than she had expected.

            Upon the day of Leomë's arrival in Mirkwood, none were expecting him, save the watchful eyes of Ëmara. Worn out and tattered looking he rode in upon a half-starved mare, barely alive himself. Her cage had worked perhaps too well; she hadn't meant to cut him off from sufficient food or water supplies. Leomë was rushed to the healing house where he refused to rest, chanting over and over that he "must talk with the King."

            'So be it.' Leomë's ravings were all Ëmara needed to hear to assure herself that he really meant to address the courts and expose her long kept secret. She still had many things to prepare.

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            "Legolas?" Yavanna had noticed a brooding silence about her future husband ever since the night of the ball. She had found him wandering far away from the festivities, amongst the paths of the gardens; obviously thinking about something that he would not speak with her about. Even as she now spoke, he seemed not to hear her words as he continued to watch out of his window at the comings and goings in the streets below his balcony.

            "Legolas!" He snapped his head around, his clear blue eyes wide open with inquisitive curiosity.

            "Yes Yavanna?" Now that she had summoned the strength to speak, she found her words failing as she swallowed and began to talk at almost a whisper:

            "You…you seem to be distracted My Lord. Ever since the dance you seem…distant." This time, Legolas did nothing to assuage her fears as he merely nodded absentmindedly and returned his eyes to the window.

            "Have you heard anything I have said?…Legolas!" Once again he turned to her, his eyes dull with thoughts and slight aggravation lacing his voice.

            "What?!" His voice's harshness startled her to tears as she shook her head and excused herself from his presence. Legolas stood up to follow her, inwardly cursing himself for being so harsh with her.

            'These thoughts of Ëmara are becoming a mere source of aggravation! I have forgotten my duties to my love as well as to my life.' He called out to Yavanna, only to be met with silence as he assumed she must have been too upset to hear his call. Just as he was about to leave his room in pursuit of Yavanna, there suddenly appeared a vassal of the King.

            "Your Father bids your presence now- the elf Leomë has asked that all members of the court be present while he addresses King Thranduil." Legolas sighed despondently as his eyes followed the hallway towards Yavanna's quarters before nodding and following the messenger into the Great Hall. 

            When Legolas arrived he found the hall already filled with many elves and emissaries from all corners of the forest. The room was thick with the buzz of voices and the shifting of uncomfortable feet, noises which were uncommon, to say the least, of the court of King Thranduil. Legolas cut his way through the crowds and took his place at the side of his father, who looked particularly upset today.

            "What is it Father?" Thranduil had hardly time to sigh before a flourish of trumpets announced the entrance of Lord Leomë. An ominous hush fell over the crowd as the elf entered and made his way towards the throne. 

            'He looks rather different from Ëmara, one would almost think they were not related. See how young he looks as well- and he is the eldest of the two!' Legolas' mind raced as Leomë approached and knelt at the feet of Thranduil. When he was bidden to rise, the turned to face the host while keeping his body respectfully slanted towards the King.

            "I address you as a member of the elven race, an ambassador for no kingdom, for no kingdom has heard what I now share with you. You have in your midst…an imposter!" The murmurs started again with a fury, rising to shouting voices as questions were thrown at Leomë.

            "What do you mean…who is the imposter…why have you come here…?" Thranduil raised his hand and commanded silence as Leomë continued to speak.

            "There is one among you…the Lady Ëmara, who dwells in darkness." At this Thranduil himself could not quiet the tumult as nearly everyone began to shout and fill the room with voices. 

            Suddenly, from the entrance to the hall came a voice with chilling calmness, which silenced the entire room in an instant. There Ëmara stood, clad in a long dark blue dress, her gray eyes erupting with flames and strength as she flipped her hand towards Leomë.

            "Do continue, dear brother…you have such marvelous theatrics." 

            "I am no brother of yours!" He spat out; Ëmara did not flinch. "I was once sworn to be as a brother would be to a sister, but your darkness has consumed even your caring for me! Lady Ëmara," Leomë pointed an accusatory finger at her, "is no elf! She was created at the hands of Morgoth himself during the time of the First Age!"

            "Impossible! You shall pay for this slander!" Legolas stood up, enraged at Leomë as he motioned for the guards to apprehend him. "Never have such wicked lies before been spun! You will be punished and shall beg the forgiveness of the Lady Ëmara!"

            Four guards rounded Leomë as his eyes widened like a wild animal's when caught in a trap. 

            "I speak only the truth My Lord! Ask the Lady Ëmara if all I have said is true!" Legolas fearfully turned his eyes to Ëmara and the sight nearly sickened him. She still stood stoic in the entryway but her eyes were now dropped with shame and sadness. Time slowed to a crawl as her deep gray eyes lifted to his and she confessed the truth of her past in an instant. His breath let out in a rush as he felt his legs would no longer support him and he heaped into his chair. Thranduil watched his son with wide-eyed astonishment, his mind working quickly beneath his furrowed brow as Legolas lapsed into silence.

            "Continue Leomë." Ëmara spoke as she began to approach where Leomë now stood, held in place by two of the guards. Leomë looked up at her with momentary fear as she seemed to raise her hands to strike with her powers when instead, she had merely meant to reach out to him. She recognized the fear in his eyes and it struck her harshly to the heart.

            "The Lady Ëmara escaped from Belirand upon its destruction and found herself under the care of my father. Upon his passing he elicited a single promise from her- that she care for me. When I learned of her…maker and of her powers, I was determined to help her…she seemed so kind at the time. Little did I know of her treachery! We came to the fair realm of Lorien where she married Lord Dîniath, though not for love, I can imagine." Here Ëmara could bear no more insult and spoke out with anger:

            "I did love him! I loved Dîniath more than anyone knew. I did love him! You suppose me to be cruel and indifferent to the feelings of others; you would make me into a sorceress who uses others without regard for their lives nor their hearts! How cruel you are to one who was so kind to you!" Tears of hot indignation streamed through her speech as she turned her eyes from Leomë to the ground, too enraged to speak any further.

            'That he should have the audacity to suppose my love for Dîniath was not real! I loved him so very much…but why should they believe? The darkness of my breeding shows in the lines of my face…surely they have noticed it and therefore believe me not.' She brought her sad gray eyes back up to Leomë and then to King Thranduil, who seemed to be lost in thought for a few moments before he spoke in the silence of the room.

            "Lady Ëmara…how do you plead to the charges of the Lord Leomë?" Without a momentary regard, she straightened her shoulders and turned towards the host, now pale with fear and trembling under the weight of her stare.

            "I am as Leomë says. Though there is little to substantiate it, I would have you believe that I brought no harm to this forest. I would never have hurt you…but now I find I must take me leave, mine is a welcome long worn out." At this the people, who had once pressed towards the front of the hall to hear all that was said, began to move quickly towards the doors leading out into the palace halls, fearful of the powers of Ëmara.

            As for Legolas, a spectator to events his mind still could not bear to grasp, he stood with his father and passed in front of Ëmara, neither turning his head nor removing his eyes from their straightforward stare.

            'And so it is decided, a foolish folly of romantic inclination mercifully lost in a moment upon the words spoken by Lord Leomë. That I ever found that loathsome creature handsome!' Even as his mind spoke these bitter words, Legolas was having a difficult time persuading his heart to accept them. 'It too shall pass. When I marry Lady Yavanna, whom I dearly adore, all thoughts of Ëmara shall have died in my heart. To think I came so near to ruining my happiness!'


	10. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

            Ëmara found herself that evening upon the balcony adjacent to her room, staring into the inky blackness of the night. There were neither stars nor moon, all emissaries of light seemed to hide from her eyes, as even the candlelight from her room did not extend onto the balcony floor. 

            Something troubled her as she scanned the darkness, picking out trees and structures to occupy her mind. It could not have been Leomë's narrative, for every word had been true and all had come about as she had thought it would. Perhaps it was now, now that she had partially satiated the desire to be freed from her burden of truth, that she wished for all to know the entire story. 

            It was not so easy as it sounded, for even the truth of the ending had been withheld from Leomë for fear that he would have abandoned her instantly. She struggled within herself for hours upon hours, watching the faint gray outlines of the passing clouds dance to and fro in a wreath about the moon. 

            Ëmara had decided that she must leave that night, a task that was no more difficult than stealing a horse from the stables and making her way out of the forest. She found that whenever she made her mind up to leave however, she was constantly stopped by an overwhelming desire that someone should know the whole truth before she disappeared from Middle Earth.

            'My mind shall give me no rest! I shall then write out my thoughts in a letter and address it to the King, may he do with it as pleases him.' With this in mind, she sat down at a small bed table and procured from the drawers a pen and ink well along with several sheets of paper. Her letter ran as thus:

            Your Highness,

                        As it was brought to your attention by the words of my confidant, Leomë, I have deceived you all. This treachery was with no evil intent, although as my words continue you may think otherwise. Believe that I would have brought no harm to this people, for elves are the only kindred I have known my many lonely years.

                        It is true that my creator was Morgoth. I was hailed as his greatest creation, an evil entity with the visage of an elven woman. What he failed to see and failed to predict, was that along with embodying the form of an elf, I also inherited the compassion of the Eldar race. When Morgoth discovered my 'weakness' for emotion, he banished me from Angband to roam the lands of Belirand alone- with no friends amongst the creations of the Valar and no allies amongst the minions of my master. Upon my leaving he predicted the fall of his empire to be met with the rise of one who was under his tutoring and from there the powers of evil would be broken by the power of an unending circle. It was at the sundering of this second evil that a third would rise…from the race of the elves.

                        I wandered for many years in Belirand, living as a savage without homeland or hearth to call my own. It was through the earth that I learned of the eminent breaking of Morgoth's hold and of the destruction to befall Belirand. I determined that there was only one direction to travel- to the south. In the north lay only barren wastelands of ice and the home of my master, to the west sat only an endless expanse of sea (for unlike the elves of pure decent, I have a shyness of the sea and dare not tempt my fate upon its waters) and to the east lay lands to be broken as well by Morgoth's fury. Therefore to the south I tarried, carrying little with me and making haste to reach safety before the War of the Jewels reached a fever pitch. 

                        Many were frightened and I met scores of travelers seeking a safer haven to sit the war out in. I was not afraid- I suppose I have never been afraid of death, in fact I have asked for it daily ever since I was left abandoned. It was during this time that I passed through a forest in search of food and came across an elder elf and his son, a child whom I found to be pretentious but kind. The man asked if I would take his son into safety, a summons to war had pulled him from the safety of his home and yet he could not rush into danger when the life of his child hung in the balance.

                        As you have guessed, I am sure, the young ward I took into my keeping was Leomë. We made our way quickly into what has now become known as Middle Earth and there we stayed upon the borders of the two hemispheres, for I felt something keeping me near the land of my creator.

                        When Belirand fell into the sea there was a terrible shaking and heaving of the land and we feared for our lives; the hold of Morgoth no longer held sway over me and we fled deep into Middle Earth. After many years, Leomë began to notice that I never seemed to "age"  (As a credit to the race of the elves, I use the word "age" merely to indicate the passing of time- for I am well aware that you do not grow older, you simply grow more beautiful and elegant with the passing years. Leomë was quick to notice that my countenance held no such beauty and that I never seemed to be touched by the years that passed us by.) and upon his asking of my heritage, I explained all to him. It was better that I did not impart the curse of Morgoth upon my spirit to Leomë, for he would not have understood nor would he have trusted me.

                        It was in the forest of Lorien that we made our home, using Leomë's name as a means for establishing lineage to the elven race. It was his idea to travel as brother and sister for the purpose of avoiding complicated questions. During the many years we spent in Lorien, I lived in constant fear that the second part of my master's prophecy would come true. When it seemed that all was silent in the land I fell at peace and happily married one of the Lorien hunters, Dîniath of the house of Limlias. 

                        At the rise of Sauron I saw my worst fears realized. It was also during this time that I came to discover the powers I held within my body. Morgoth's power had come to dwell inside of me and I found that I could manipulate matter with my mind and read the thoughts of man. I told no one save Leomë, even my faithful husband did not know of my powers. 

                        What I did not tell Leomë was that the powers I were receiving were also being born with new and terrible ideas, thoughts of darkness and evil that frightened me more than any of the other changes within my skin. 

                        Dîniath had sensed changes in me and although I knew that I loved him, the blackness prevented me from showing just how much. Distraught he went to fight in the wars without thought of fighting, thinking he did not have my love and therefore was killed almost immediately. The guilt and pain I suffered were immeasurable; my own self became loathsome to my mind. 

                        Every day since has seen my withdrawal from the races of Man and Elves, and at the breaking of Sauron my powers increased a hundredfold, giving way to little doubt that Morgoth's predictions would come true. It was with a mind bent towards death that I left Lorien, convinced that I would kill myself and thus end the prophecy of my maker. His powers did not end with his destruction it was clear, for every chance I took was met with only injuries of minor significance. 

                        Now my narrative comes to a close, for all that transpired upon my entering into Mirkwood has been witnessed first hand by those of the kingdom. 

                        Think not that I mean to stay in your forest. Fear and prejudice are far worse to live with than loneliness and therefore I shall take my chances alone. By the time this letter is received and read I shall have disappeared into the night, far from those I could harm.

                        I thank you for your hospitality; it is to remain my final happy memory.

Ëmara

            She did not read the letter again but instead folded it thrice and sealed it, picking up her pen to address it. As the nib hovered above the parchment she wondered at delivering it to Thranduil, for there was someone else whom she felt she owed an explanation. After thinking for a few moments she picked up a clean sheet of paper and writing two sentences upon it, folded it and addressed it along with the letter. 

            With the letters in hand, she quietly walked out into the hallway, hearing nothing aside from the scampering of a tiny mouse's feet. Without glancing back she slipped down the hallway to the Great Hall and left the letter where it was sure to be found the next morning.

^***^

            The stables were empty of all elves at this time of night, leaving Ëmara only to select a horse and be on her way. From amongst the noble steeds stamping in their stalls at the presence of a stranger, she chose a large bay-colored mare with the clear markings of a horse of Rohan. The bay stamped and whinnied, disliking the feelings she was receiving from the stranger. Ëmara, nonplussed but rather annoyed, brought a comforting song to the horse through the use of her mind, placating the beast and affording her time to mount the bay and be off.

            High above the dim courtyard, pacing sleeplessly, two eyes watched the departure of Ëmara, recognizing the bay from the stables and noting the small black figure astride the mare. 

            'Let her leave…and let her never return.'


	11. Chapter Ten

a/n: (Promise I'll be brief~ ;o) I just wanted to thank the reading populous at large for reading my story and reviewing it- I now have something I never thought possible- a SECOND page of reviews~ wow. (Can my expectations bottom out or what?) Thank you to all~ (esp. Jackie- ya' know who you are :oD) Without further ado:

Chapter Ten

            Yavanna's intense green eyes watched with reserved relief as Ëmara sped away from the palace. She had seen Legolas' intent in his eyes but the news of Ëmara's disgrace and her disappearance would see to the ruin of all his flightiest fancies. She watched as the bay disappeared into the folds of the forest, lost in an instant amongst the midnight's shadows. 

'It is for the best, perhaps Legolas will forget her and the wicked enchantments with which she preyed upon his heart.' Yavanna waited a few moments, watching the spot where Ëmara had disappeared and wondering if she would reappear. When she was certain that the bay would not return from the forests, she stood up from her windowseat and made her way out into the darkened hallway. 

            Yavanna had meant to search in Ëmara's room, jealousy impregnating images of love tokens and trinkets intended for Legolas, which, if she had not been blinded by her obsession, would have seemed ridiculous. Her love for Legolas was a plague upon her heart and her very life had been consumed by it. She paused however, noticing two letters propped against a vase at the entryway to the Great Hall.

            'It is as I expected, both addressed to Legolas in the hand of Ëmara!' Yavanna gripped the letters as though she would rip them in half, then thinking the better of it; she quickly secreted them away within the folds of her robe. She calmly walked back towards her room, bursting to know the contents of the letters.

            Yavanna entered her room and locked the door, first making sure that her roaming had awakened no one throughout the hallway as she pressed her ear to the oaken door. There was no sound throughout the palace; her wanderings had not disturbed any of the dreaming elves.

            At her bedside candle she removed the seal from the larger letter, obviously a narrative for it contained several complete pages of Ëmara's flowing hand. She dug through the letter eagerly, her eyes widening as the truth of Ëmara's past was brought into sharp focus. 

            'And so the enigma of Ëmara is solved! What a loathsome and undeserving creature she turned out to be!' Yavanna's complacency had given way to a sort of relieved satisfaction mixed with an acute sense of her own superiority with regards to Ëmara's position now in Middle Earth. 

            The second letter was more of a puzzle, for it held two sentences, addressed to Legolas and ran as thus:

                        You need not have told me, for I knew all the time. Believe that possession would have ended in nothing but sorrow.

            Yavanna read the note through thrice, each time wondering at the latter of the two sentences…had Legolas made any proposals to Ëmara? 'Had she reason to think he would- she speaks as though she knew his very thoughts! And the first statement… 'You need not have told me…I knew all the time.' Does she speak of his love…or of other things kept secret from me?' Yavanna resolved to say nothing of the letters; her own survival was dependent upon marrying Legolas- she had given up everything for him. At one time she had been a student of the ancient history of the elves, she had pursued with interest the origins of the Eldar and the stories of the Valar and their mighty deeds. All had been lost upon a tiring sea of dressing suitably for balls and festivities to catch the eye of the Prince. When his intentions had been made known, she had taken a position in the House of the Healers, working in a class below her own but humble enough to provide a sense of purpose to the life of a Queen. Now, when all was within sight, the elven lady from the bowels of Angband had been thrust betwixt them, disrupting all the days which should have passed in merriment before their wedding.

            Yavanna felt hot tears of passion roll down her cheeks as she wondered if Legolas still cared anything for her. All of her heart had been poured into thoughts of him, to think that her affections were being met with reproach and even loathing, was too much to bear. Suddenly her mind began to manifest falsities of Legolas' feigning his love for her, untruths which grew under the tears of her eyes as the night wore on. And so she passed the night at her bed stand, sleeping not a wink as she stared into the depths of her candle's orange flame.

^***^

            Morning came slowly with the passing of the candle into nothing but rivers of wax running from a center of blackened wick. Yavanna was discovered this way by her maidservant who, being very much distressed at the sight of her mistress, ran to fetch a doctor from the healing house. The news that she had been taken ill quickly spread throughout the whole of the kingdom, for there could be but one reason for Yavanna's sickness- an illness of the heart.

            When news of her plight reached Legolas, he had just resolved after a restless night of tossing about, to confront Ëmara regarding his thoughts about her. He was found in the hallways, still dressed in informal attire and pacing to and fro while speaking with himself in a vexed manner.

            "My Lord." Feânin, who had been one of the first to know of Yavanna's illness, being the son of a healer, bowed shortly to Legolas, who hardly seemed to take notice of him.

            "What is it Feânin?" His voice denoted a slight aggravation at being interrupted, however, Feânin's next words stopped his pacing short and brought grave lines upon his countenance.

            "The Lady Yavanna has taken ill…" It was all he needed to say; the oddity of an elf becoming ill was more talked of in stories than in reality. Legolas knew immediately the reason for her malady; however, as to how she had come about her sadness he was at a complete loss. His only thought was to go to her and see what could be done.

            As Feânin and Legolas made their way quickly towards Yavanna's bedchambers, they were stopped once more, this time by a stable hand who reported that Legolas' bay mare, Celebruin, was missing from the stables. 

            "Yet another piece of unlucky news! The sun has hardly breached the horizon before trouble has beset us from all sides!" Legolas sighed and resolved to search for Celebruin after he attended to Yavanna.

            When he entered her bedchamber, he found the room filled with people all crowded about her bed and speaking in low whispers, sometimes to each other and often to themselves. Legolas recognized them all as healers or those who made medicine a practice, he even noticed Lord Ilian, who took medicinal science as a mere hobby, feverently discussing Yavanna's illness with another elf.  

            "Gentlemen, may I ask to see the Lady Yavanna alone?" Legolas was obliged and slowly the crowd filtered out, leaving him standing alone at the foot of Yavanna's bed. She looked quite pale and lifeless, the unsteady rising and falling of her chest was the only motion that betrayed her status as a living creature. 

            Legolas was struck to the core as he watched her emerald eyes, once so full of vivacity and love now clouded over and glassy- as lifeless as the eyes of a doll. He rounded the bed and knelt by her side, trying to capture her eyes which seemed to pass right through him.

            "Yavanna?…Yavanna it is Legolas…I'm here Yavanna." It was clear she was suffering as silver tears fell from her unblinking eyes onto her pillow at the sound of his voice. Yet as to the reasons for her grief he could guess not, surely she had not discovered the thoughts of his heart with regards to Ëmara? He had kept those well hidden and had spoken of them to no one, not even to his closest friend.

^***^

            He watched her intently for hours, talking soothingly to her and enclosing her cold hand within his fingers, hoping by some chance that she might recover from her illness. Yavanna did not speak, she hardly stirred save only to breathe and occasionally close her eyes slowly. 

            After some time he arose and took a turn about her room, wondering at what he could do for her. It was then that he spotted the two letters lying in a pool of wax upon her bed stand. He thought their appearance curious and even from a distance he could discern that the handwriting was unknown and uncommon of the elves of Mirkwood.

            At a first glance, the writing appeared to be of an Eldar dialectic manner, as he scanned the letter for a signature, the answer became quite clear as to why the writing was so elegant and ancient. As to why Yavanna held these letters, Legolas was once again at a loss. Natural curiosity overpowered him however, and thoughts of Yavanna were lost as he set into the narrative of Ëmara's life. 

            At the conclusion he found himself rereading certain passages to be sure he had not been mistaken in what his eyes had read- could the curse truly be real? All that Morgoth had foreseen had come to pass, was it false hope that allowed Legolas to believe that Ëmara might be spared?

            For the first time in his life what he truly wanted and what his heart desired and needed became very clear to him. He could not explain nor could he justify what he was feeling in the core of his being, his mind now had but one object…Ëmara. Something inside of him was stirred to life; something that had long lay dormant in the recesses of his heart.

            Without thought for anything but that which he desired, he made his way quickly towards the door, forgetting his title and his duties, forgetting all those things, which until now had seemed so important.

            'What am I doing?' His mind was still holding the last restraints against his motions as his eyes returned to the still form of Yavanna. 'Why am I leaving her…why am I leaving Yavanna when I know Ëmara cares nothing at all for me?' Thoughts were passing so quickly his eyes began to spin as the room before him lurched and pivoted before refocusing again upon Yavanna. Only it was not Yavanna, the hair was too dark and the complexion too ruddy. 'Ëmara.' Legolas turned once again to the door and threw it open to find his father blocking the exit, a look of severe anger twisting his complacent face into a furious glare. 


	12. Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

            "Where are you going?" Thranduil's face denoted he did not really desire an answer, for he meant to keep Legolas right where he stood. His eyes were flashing with rage as he grabbed Legolas by his arm and pulled him into the hallway. With a deafening slam he shut the door and pulled his son face to face with him.

            "What have you done to her?" He demanded, then, noticing that Legolas did not seem to understand what he wanted, Thranduil rephrased the question, without the blatant hostility but still with reserved anger.

            "News of Yavanna has spread all throughout the kingdom like wildfire. That she has been taken ill can be to no one's fault but yours- everyone knows the only reason an elf becomes ill is because he or she no longer feels any love and desires to die. I ask you expecting an honest answer, did you say anything or do anything to Yavanna that would cause her to feel she did not have your love?" Legolas was still taken aback, his previous intentions of leaving to find Ëmara pressed to the back of his mind as he thought to answer his father.

            "Father, do not blame me for Yavanna's misfortune…I would never have brought any harm to her, you know that." Thranduil did not except Legolas' explanation, instead he swallowed heavily and stared into his son's eyes.

            "Go into that room and tell her then, tell her that you love her." Legolas' eyes softened as he turned to reenter the bedroom, but he found his feet would not be moved. 'What of your true love? Can you lie to Yavanna…save her life? But at what cost? Would not the pain be worse if she were to discover the truth at the point of recovery?' Thranduil watched Legolas intently as he leaned forward to catch his eyes.

            "You see you are caught…and have no illusions that you have been at all discreet in your choice of lovers…anyone who has seen you with her knows of your love for the Lady Ëmara. Your display in the Great Hall opened my eyes to that." He spat out the words as though they were a terrible taste in his mouth. At this Legolas rounded on Thranduil, his own anger mounting by the moment at the mention of Ëmara's name in such a disdainful tone as his father was using.

            "I dare not hide it for I know that to be impossible, I only now came to realize it myself…yes, I love her. I love her more with every passing moment…that she is moving farther and farther away I need no one to tell me, for with each mile she passes I feel my heart pulling me towards her. I can not stay here a moment longer, not when I can save her the terrible fate she believes to await her." Thranduil stepped in front of him, to which Legolas tried to work around, only to find himself once again staring into the eyes of his father. 

            "Save her? Save her? She is evil…nothing can wrench the treachery and deceit that have created her from her blackened heart. She does not desire your love…she does not love you…"

            "Ah! And has she told you as much?" Legolas cried out, the thought of unrequited love too terrible to comprehend at his moment of decisive action.

            "Do not be a fool! She cannot love! Even those whom she holds the closest to her…Leomë and Dîniath…even they were brought to pain by her own hands! This is a fight you will lose…a struggle that will end only in your own destruction." 

            "Don't you see?" Legolas' eyes turned a calm blue as they met with Thranduil's, all of his anger at Ëmara's slander forgotten as he spoke perfunctorily, "Don't you see that it does not matter? All I desire…all I love is with her…don't you understand that after love, nothing else matters? I would gladly die at her hand, for then I should die at the hand of one I loved."

            "And what of Yavanna you selfish child?! You are beyond pardon in this matter and deserve no less grief than you seek if you chase after Ëmara!" Thranduil could not hide the concern in his eyes, even while his voice thundered with rage. Legolas was still his son and he was still a father who loved his child very much. It grieved him deeply to see his son's mind so twisted by the deceit of Ëmara and to watch him hurt the delicate Yavanna in such a cruel way.

            "I see there is no middle ground, I then bid you goodbye Father." The words fell so heavily that Thranduil momentarily crumbled, ready to beg Legolas' forgiveness but the cold resolution in his son's eyes told him that no pleading would be borne. With this, Thranduil rose to his full stature and with calmness laced in pain; he laid his judgment upon Legolas.

"Do not think of returning to this wood if you leave it in pursuit of Lady Ëmara. I never wish to see you again if your mind is to follow Ëmara and leave Yavanna to die. Never has such cruelty so starkly shown itself in the realm of my kingdom…that it comes from you is most grievous. Now I see you no longer as my son…for you have nothing of the compassion of this race. Leave…never return." Now it was Legolas' turn to be remorseful, the severity of the choice he was about to make was heart-wrenching. He wondered for a great while, weighing the two options that lay before him.

On one side stood his father, his kingdom, his crown, and his life, on the other side, a single woman whose very name brought him to his knees. He resolved to see his convictions through and without a word he turned from Thranduil and made his way down the hallway towards the stables, not really certain if his choice had been correct but determined to see it through nonetheless. 

            Legolas' heart was beating so loudly that his ears could hardly bear the blood pounding against his temples. His eyes remained fixated on the stables ahead as he wondered in his mind all he had just lost.

            'What I have lost…what all I have lost…What does any of it matter? A glittering city, a kingdom of power, a crown destined to rest upon my brow…what does any of it matter? Is not the reward of love greater than the measure of all temporal matter? What of my father? I mustn't think of it…I must think only of her for whom I have given everything up.' His brow furrowed in concern as the only thoughts in his mind were of Ëmara's cold stares and contempt- riddled speech. 'Unrequited love? I pray it is not so…when I looked into her eyes I thought I saw the deepest passion, the most boundless love…please let them not be manifestations of a wishful heart!' 

            Upon entering the stables Legolas found Feânin currying his own horse and quickly called out to him.

            "Feânin! Find me Ruinfëa, for I am in need of a horse with the speed of my own, Celebruin. They are of the same brood and he will suit me nicely." Feânin nodded and in a few moments returned with a fiery chestnut colored steed prancing about in an excited manner. As he handed him over to Legolas, Feânin stopped and looked up at his friend.

            "Are you leaving Mirkwood when Yavanna is so ill?" The tone of his voice denoted that he knew as well what Legolas' intentions were. With a sigh, Legolas mounted Ruinfëa and looked down at Feânin, a sad smile creeping across his face.

            "Yes Feânin. I do not know if we shall ever meet again, my paths are leading me forever away from the borders of my home. Father will not see me again if I leave to find…the Lady Ëmara." Feânin's face did not flinch; apparently Legolas' love for Ëmara had been obvious to all but him for some time now. 

            "Farewell Legolas." Feânin avoided Legolas' eyes as he walked away, too embarrassed by his friend to speak with him. Legolas could bear the isolation from his kingdom and his father, for they had been with him little throughout his life, only surfacing to point out his shortcomings; it was the severing of Feânin that he found unbearable. Feânin had been his closest friend for many years, ever since they had both been children they had been inseparable. Feânin's cold shoulder left Legolas quite alone in the world, for he had lost his namesake and his friendships all within the span of a day. 

            For a moment he regarded returning to Yavanna and leading a life that would be far from unhappy, but a life that would be unfulfilled and always full of the question: What if? Thinking this to be a hopeless situation Legolas turned Ruinfëa towards the stable archway and nudged him forward, his heart telling him that no matter which path he chose, his ruin lay at the end of it.


	13. Chapter Twelve

a/n: Hullo to all those out in readerland~ So sorry this update took so long. I just moved into my dorm yesterday and life has been completely hectic~! College is already stressing me out and I haven't even started classes yet…*sigh* It's a good thing for all you continuous readers that I have already completed this story~ otherwise you'd be up a creek without a paddle…I don't feel much like writing for the time being. :o) That will change, I'm sure. Anyways~ there are only two (possibly three) more chappies to this story~ so it's winding up to the final hurrah. Thanks for reading and putting up with me~ I'm an eclectic elf-loving fanfic writing medical science major without much of a social life~ it's nice to know some people out there care about the works I write. :oD On with the show~ : 

Chapter Twelve 

            Legolas had been riding hard for nearly three days, having met with no trace of the Lady Ëmara and no clues as to her whereabouts. The roads he had traveled were hardly frequented by kindly people and many of his requests for information were met with silence and blank stares.

            He traveled with his own silence, a sound more deafening than beating drums against his ears. He thought of what he might say to her, how he was to explain all that had happened. 

            'Will she even care? Shall I ever find her to tell her any of the things that have transpired within me? Perhaps I was too foolish, but what can my apologies do now? I know the choice I made and I knew the consequences of that choice…am I to be forever damned for leaving my hearth and home and seeking love?'

^***^

            It came to pass that after a few days, Legolas became turned around in what appeared to be an open expanse of tall grass that stretched for miles in all directions, spotted only with a single grove of trees. 'A river, or a lake I'll wager.' He thought, staring at the random spring of growth; and so he set off for it with a gentle warm breeze pushing at his back.

            Ruinfëa began to prance lightly as they came nearer and nearer the lake until he had quite worked himself up beyond Legolas' control. With a sigh, Legolas dismounted and strode towards the thick foliage surrounding what he was certain must be a large body of water. With a smile he though how nicely a bath would suit him as he made his way through the thick trees and into a clearing filled with a dark blue lake.

            The flowing water ebbed against its shores and beat a lulling rhythm into Legolas' heart, stilling his thoughts of Ëmara and of Thranduil. For the first time in months he felt at ease and peaceful as he pulled off his clothes and dove into the water. The icy lake cleansed his every pore and pulled the exhaustion from his limbs as he swam into the center of the deep blue water. 

            To himself he began to whistle a tune, and then, thinking his shyness silly, he began to sing the song aloud, disturbing nothing for miles save a small nest of chirping fledglings. He laughed and dove through the cool water again and again, losing his thoughts on things more pleasant than the situation he had found himself in when he had been atop Ruinfëa. 

            'Speaking of Ruinfëa, where has he got off to?' Legolas turned his eyes about the entire lake and found that Ruinfëa was nowhere in sight. It did not concern him so much- he had known horses to wander for a bit in search of soft grasses or cool shade, Legolas had no fear that Ruinfëa would not return to his calls. 

            After a few more minutes bathing in the cold waters, Legolas swam towards the shore and collected his clothing. He called out to Ruinfëa, his whistle only met with the gentle lapping of the lake. 

            "Ruinfëa! Come here!" His voice died on the wind and concern mounted as Legolas quickly re-dressed and scurried through the underbrush in search of his lost horse. The foliage seemed thicker, or perhaps it was his imagination as he vainly tried to follow a straight line out of the trees and found himself again and again forced to turn back towards the lake.

            'Strange, there seemed to be a path headed this direction before. I am certain I did not turn to the right or the left when I first made my way towards the lake. Why does everything turn around…and where is Ruinfëa?' Legolas felt his heart beating faster as he jogged off into the forest, only to make his way back towards the lake. His mind was racing with fear and confusion, 'What is this cage with no walls? Why can I not find my way out of this prison?'

            Suddenly it hit him. Prison. Leomë had mentioned something of a prison with no walls where Ëmara had kept him when he had attempted his approach of Mirkwood. A familiar cold sensation shot through his veins as Legolas spun around, half expecting to see Ëmara standing there with her calm countenance. Nothing. Nothing save a few scraggly trees too close to the water to develop tough roots.

            Legolas thought for a long while, occasionally spinning about at the slightest noise and quitting his search for Ruinfëa. He started and with his eyes cast towards the sky, shouted across the tops of the trees:

            "Ëmara!" Silence.

            "Ëmara!" This time the trees rustled a bit and a soft humming curled around the branches. Legolas called out again and the humming became louder- a tune that he recognized…the tune he had been singing. It seemed to come from the forest on his left and continued to grow stronger until Legolas was certain that someone was nearly upon him. The trees split and allowed the Lady Ëmara, clad in the same midnight blue robe Legolas had first seen her in, into the clearing.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

            She curtsied slightly and allowed him a moment to collect the thoughts that were crowding his mind at an alarming rate. Ëmara's face was still laced with hard lines and her features were no less rough than he had remembered them- but her eyes were now no longer hidden and shone with every color of the spectrum as he hungrily took them in. After a few moments of silence, it was Ëmara who first spoke, walking towards the lake and speaking with a detached tone.

            "Ruinfëa came upon Celebruin and myself but a few hours ago. A horse recognizes her brothers I suppose. Imagine my surprise to find neither a guard nor a soldier had come searching me out…but the Prince of Mirkwood, Lord Legolas of the house of Thranduil." Her voice bordered on mocking as she turned to face him, catching him instantly in her stare. 

            "Oh yes, I can see your thoughts. I can see your father and Lady Yavanna, the forsaken; I can see Feânin and the palace in Mirkwood. I even see your…love for me." Here her voice wavered which she was quick to cover up and move over, as though she had prepared this speech for some time now.

            "And I have come before you to tell you only this…That your foolishness will earn you nothing of myself. Did you not heed the warnings of Leomë and of your father? I am cursed and those whom I touch are cursed! Even now the powers of evil are crawling beneath my skin, waiting to burst their bounds and spread the disease of hatred over all Middle Earth." Ëmara's eyes filled with tears as she clenched her fists, the words of her own mouth upsetting her. She paused for a moment in her soliloquy and turned away from Legolas, tears of pain running down the length of her neck and dropping against her cloak. 

            Until now Legolas had remained mute, watching her motions and hardly heeding her words. Her presence was intoxicating to him and he longed to drink himself full of her very being. Ëmara's violet eyes had now opened the doors of her soul and, though she did not know it herself, they were speaking with Legolas in tongues that only he could understand. Catching her silence, he finally spoke as he rounded her to come face to face.

            "Lady Ëmara, I have traveled far to find you, my thoughts must lay testament to that fact. I would travel so great a distance a hundred times to be standing here with you as I am now. I have loved you for so long, and yet even I was blind unto this fact which so many could see very plainly. I come without my pride and without my kingdom, to offer up nothing but myself unto your will." Ëmara turned away and spoke softly with a defeated tone that Legolas had to strain to hear.

            "Don't you see that it will come to sadness? I cannot love…the prophecy is true, I am the one who will bring about the destruction of Middle Earth…the love of one…the love of many could not save me." She now took no care to hide her tears as she turned her sad eyes to Legolas. Ëmara wanted him to see her crying, she wanted him to see her pain and leave her with her own misery. The effect was quite the opposite. 

            Legolas was overcome with a fit of passion as he grasped her hand and pulled her body close to his own. His breathing became shallow as an existential force drew his mouth to hers and he pressed his lips to her own. For what seemed like ages to Legolas they stood fused together, not daring to part from the kiss that was sealing their fates together. Ëmara's touch had given way to warmth as she ran her fingers across his cheeks and pulled herself closer to him. 

            When they parted neither spoke- but instead they remained together, staring into each other's eyes. Ëmara thought to push away from him but found that her arms would not move in defiance of her mind. She averted her eyes and broke the silence with her sad voice.

            "Please let me go." For a moment she feared he would not release her, but his arms slowly fell to his sides and she stepped away from him. There they stood, a little ways apart from each other; although the distance could have been far greater for all the obstacles that lay between them. 

Legolas stood rigid, not trusting himself enough to move or speak. He simply watched Ëmara work through everything in her mind and lived in horror as to what her next action would be. As for Ëmara, she suddenly felt very cold without his touch and before her mind could argue with her body, she had rushed back into his arms as tears sprouted anew in her eyes. Legolas sighed heavily, having seen the last of her defenses toppled.

            "What are we to do?" She spoke through her tears, hugging the folds of his tunic in her fists. "Why were you sent to be my torment?…Why did I have to love…?" Her last words fell off in a new flood of weeping. For the first time in her life Ëmara was dependant upon someone else, she realized that she held no powers in his arms- that he was the one who commanded her in his powerful hold. He leaned forward and spoke quietly into her ear as though afraid of talking too loudly and shattering the moment about them.

            "We do not chose who we love…it is all decided many years before we are even born into this world. All of life is love…and all I am lives through your love." Legolas looked down at her and discovered the power he now held over her. 'But what are we to do?' He thought, wondering when the question of her fate was resurfaced. 'What can I do to prevent what seems to be an undeniable destiny?' A cool shudder chilled his skin and he felt Ëmara tense in his arms- she had read his thoughts.

            "You are right." She whispered as she drew away from his touch. "There is nothing to be done. To consummate our love is impossible…to live without it…inconceivable. What are the damned to do?" Ëmara began to look at the palms of her hands and laugh. "Isn't it funny how so insignificant a being as myself holds such power in my hands? My little hands…" Her laughter had died down into a nearly loathsome tone as she curled her fingers into fists and clenched them until her knuckles were white. 

            "Ëmara…love me. Give away the anger of your soul and leave nothing but my love for you. Morgoth holds no sway over those that will not listen to his words." She shook her head and turned towards the lake, speaking to herself more than Legolas:

            "It is already begun. Nothing can stop the fires consuming my mind and soul." Ëmara turned to Legolas again, this time the color of her eyes was once again closed and lifeless. "Leave me Legolas. Your love alone cannot save me." 

            "No! Don't you see that it can? You must believe that it can and it will!" He found himself fairly pleading with her as he feared she would disappear from his life forever. Ëmara closed her eyes and breathed in deeply as she stretched her fingers to their fullest extent and drew strength from the earth around her. With the might of a deity she opened her eyes and walked away from Legolas, still keeping their eyes connected.

            "It is for the best."


End file.
